


Happy Solstice, Primarch Lorgar

by kishiriaz



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Fluff, Gen, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5436665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishiriaz/pseuds/kishiriaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lorgar goes out into the storm on Winter Solstice, and makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Solstice, Primarch Lorgar

Lorgar gazed from the upstairs gallery out at the Solstice celebrations in the ballroom below. The decorated tree glowed with golden lights amidst holiday decorations from across the ages. A fire burned merrily in the enormous hearth. Other primarchs mingled with human and transhuman guests.

Everyone seemed to be paired up. The Emperor and Empress were eccentrically dressed in brightly coloured, absolutely tasteless sweaters and trousers that did not match The Master of Mankind sported a pair of whimsical stuffed antlers on his head. Lorgar smiled a little at that, reminded of powerful horned gods who served as fathers of the harvest and protection. The Emperor kept in contact with the Empress at all times, his hand on her elbow or hip.

Fulgrim was clad in a lavender elf costume. This involved tights and a little fur-trimmed tunic that barely covered his perfect buttocks. Ferrus Manus, in black and silver, could not keep his eyes off Fulgrim. 

Horus wore a uniform-like tunic and trouser suit in pearl gray and sage green. Beside him, Sanguinius embodied the spirit of the holiday simply by being an angel. At the same time, it was clear he was being beautiful for Horus. His tunic was burgundy and his trousers black. His wings were adorned with ropes of white, red, and gold gems.

Rogal and Perturabo Dorn were low-key in pressed trousers and sweaters that had snowflake patterns. Lorgar noticed a theme here. Everyone seemed to be in a couple and wearing warm clothes made by someone who loved them.

Everyone else at least. Not Lorgar. The thing that affected him most was watching Angron Angron, Lorgar’s fellow child-minder, was paired up and wearing a knitted garment. There was an archway with mistletoe suspended at the peak. Angron and the captain of his flagship were passionately kissing beneath it. Angron was clad in his short World Eaters chiton and a red scarf with a pattern of white copulating reindeer.

There was no justice in the universe. None. Lorgar knew the gods could be capricious, but Angron had told Lorgar that he was ruined for sex. Obviously that wasn’t true. Lorgar doubted Angron would be making that claim to Lotara.

Lorgar turned away and returned to the nursery, where he lived and worked. He sat on the big bed in the front parlour and poked at the fire in the glass-doored hearth. He gazed down at his booted feet and the hem of his plain gray Word Bearers robe. Even the house ghosts were away. He could sense it.

Disgusted, Lorgar rose, went downstairs to the side entrance he usually used, and took his cloak from its peg by the door. Imperia’s moon was high in the sky, reflecting brightly off the snow. He could see clearly, so he started walking down a path he’d seen before but never followed. It occurred to him that bringing his crozius probably would have been a good idea, but the manor was too far behind him now.

The path turned out to be another one leading to the village. Lorgar sighed, looking into the lit windows of the houses showing their backs to him. Lorgar saw coloured lights, people laughing and having parties. He turned away.

Lorgar decided to go back to the manor. It had been a pleasant walk at least.

He turned back to the woods. As he did so, he noticed someone entering the forest about half a kilometer away to his right. It wasn’t anyone Lorgar recognized. That and how they were taking what appeared to be the continuation of the path he was following inspired him to follow.

The trail was clear in the otherwise pristine snow. They indicated a person who was tall for a normal human, wearing a high-quality winter boot. This brought Lorgar around to how cold his own feet were, his boots not meant for long trudges through the forest at night. He was intrigued though, curious as to why a human would be hiking the way he was.

Because it would be an unsettling walk for a human, Lorgar reasoned. His primarch’s sight and hearing kept him alert and aware of his surroundings, and all possible dangers. A human wouldn’t have these advantages. It wasn’t a vagrant, judging by the imprint of the boot.

Besides, Lorgar was getting uncomfortable. He resumed walking.

Snow creaked under Lorgar’s feet. Occasionally, he would hear a pile of snow falling off a branch, or something cracking. Except for that, everything was eerily still. Even so, Lorgar did not feel afraid. The quiet brought to mind a battlefield after the Word Bearers had brought about compliance, but the atmosphere was tranquil and soothing.

After about twenty minutes, he found himself looking into a clearing. In the clearing stood a cottage.

It was so incongruous and anachronistic that all Lorgar could do was stare. This was how children’s stories began, or horror vids, and the difference between the two was alarmingly slim.

As he observed the house, snow began to fall softly from the sky. The scene became a little more threatening as a cloud moved across the moon and the snowfall increased. Lorgar took some nervous steps over. The diamond-paned, leaded glass windows glowed from a fire within. Knocking on the door was tempting, but Lorgar reflected again on how he was unarmed.

The decision was taken away from him when the wooden door swung open and a soft male voice said, “I see the Emperor still has sons who don’t know to stay indoors when it’s cold. Come in, Lorgar. I have tea steeping.”

Lorgar did. The man who had admitted him was tall, but still a head and a half shorter than the primarch. He was red-haired and very slender, any of his bulk coming from the thick sweater he was wearing.

“Sweaters!” Lorgar hissed.

“Er…you’d best come in,” said the man. “Take off your boots and put them by the fire.”

The room was lit softly by candles an the fireplace. The walls were whitewashed and there were dark, exposed wood beams overhead. The room had several large armchairs, all with tables beside them. Shelves held old books and knick-knacks.

The man went into a door that appeared to lead into the kitchen. He emerged carrying an earthenware tea set on a tray. He placed it on a side table and poured mugs of tea from the round pot.

When Lorgar had placed his wet boots and socks by the hearth, he offered Lorgar a plate of biscuits and one of the mugs. “Sit anywhere.”

Lorgar sat in one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire. “Thank you.”

The slender redhead sat down across from him. “You’re one of the primarchs. Lorgar, I believe?”

“You are correct. And your name is…?”

The man paused a moment, running his hand over his long curls. “Francis. I’m the village physician. Why were you out there all alone, unprepared for the weather? I at least was performing a house call. Plus it’s the Solstice.”

“I didn’t feel right at the party.”

Francis nodded. “I completely understand that feeling.” He tipped his head to one side, looking at Lorgar’s bare feet. “Your toes are still blue Let me get you a pair of socks.”

He went through one of the two doors on the right and emerged a moment later with a pair of gray knitted socks. Lorgar looked at them for a moment, feeling the texture of the wool, then put them on.

“It seems to be the evening for knitted garments,” Lorgar commented.

“What do you mean?”

Lorgar sat back, wriggling his toes in the socks, feeling them start to warm up. “Sweaters. All of my family seem to have received or given them. Angron owns a scarf made by…well, I suppose she’s his lover now.”

“You’ve been driven into the cold for lack of a sweater?”

Lorgar sipped his tea, then laughed. “I suppose it could be seen that way, yes.” He took a few more sips before continuing, “It’s also how everyone seems to have a partner but me. Angron was the one I thought would be single along with me, but a female friend of his is here and he prefers her company right now.”

“That is indeed a lonely situation.”

Lorgar finished his tea, stood, and felt his boots. Still damp.

“I have a spare room if you need it. It’s for patients, so you should be comfortable.”

“I’m an unexpected guest. I shouldn’t stay long.”

Fran stood and drew back a curtain. He opened the pane of diamond glass to reveal that the snow was torrential, blowing into the room in seconds. He closed it again and said, “Your choice entirely.”

Lorgar cringed. “You are right I will stay.”

Fran poured him another cup.

Lorgar really did want to give his rescuer the solitude he obviously preferred, so he retreated to the guest room as soon as he could. The bed was just barely long enough for him and covered in soft sheets and plushy blankets. A wood stove warmed the room. With the warmth and the darkness and the winter silence, Lorgar fell asleep just as he was wondering how long it would take him to do so.

He awakened feeling more refreshed than he had in years. It was gray beyond the windows, but clearly morning. He walked out into the main room where Francis was already up.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked Lorgar.

“Thank you, I did. Unbelievably well. I love Angron, but he snores and kicks.”

Francis smiled. “Does he throw you out of bed as you sleep?”

“No, thank goodness. How is the weather?”

“Overcast, but not snowing right now. I oiled your boots for you. Your feet should stay dry.”

Francis prepared eggs with thick slices of bacon for the two of them. As he ate, Lorgar asked, “How is it that you have primarch-sized chairs, Francis?”

Francis shook his head sadly. “I sometimes have Astartes staying over. It’s why the bed you slept in is as large as it is. Sometimes they need assistance.”

“Oh?”

“The war has left its mark on quite a few of them, I’m afraid.”

Lorgar said nothing.

Francis changed the subject to gardens and chickens.

At the end of the meal, Lorgar thanked him and said, “You have been beyond gracious, but I really must return to the manor. I had the night off, but I need to return and see to my nieces and nephews. I suspect Angron may still be occupied.”

“Take this with you.” Francis lifted something from a side table and held it up.

Lorgar’s eyes widened. It was a dark brown hooded capelet, broad enough for his shoulders. “You made this for me?”

Francis shrugged. “It was going to be a shawl, and it was almost finished. I just added the hood.”

Lorgar bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“You seemed to want a knitted item. It’s Solstice. Happy Solstice.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know. Perhaps Angron and I can help in your garden.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lorgar stepped outside. His feet were warm and dry, his bald head covered and snug. The idea of returning to the manor suddenly didn’t seem so bad.


End file.
